Put yourself in my position. You can’t stop thinking about something that happened here years ago, when you were just a child.
Three boys wake up one morning. Three beds vacated eagerly.
You remember the incident but never really knew the details. Not knowing means your thoughts are just looping around uselessly.
Phillipa had always known that she would be a nurse. The admission tests for University were easy because she was confident, no panic or night-time angst for Phillipa. She was born to be a nurse.
The University was attached to a teaching hospital with a world-renowned reputation. It would look great on her CV as she climbed the career ladder. She was a little regretful that they weren’t required to wear caps, crisp white aprons with scissor chain attached and black tights, but she made a supreme effort with the trouser uniform and always appeared smart, clean, fragrant and fresh.
At last, at the end of the Preceptorship, which of course she had zipped through in the shortest time possible, Phillipa felt that she was at last truly “Nursing” and was joyfully taking her turn at being “Nurse in Charge”.
“Me toes are freezing.”
“Come ‘ere, give ‘em ‘ere an’ I’ll put ‘em under me coat.”
“Oh nice, that’s nice. Are you cold Joe?”
“Mmm a bit, just a bit, snuggle up and we’ll warm each other won’t we.”
“Lovely. This place in’t bad is it. I know it’s a bit wet in the kitchen and it dun’t have electric like the last squat but it’s not bad ‘ere.”
“No, an’ it feels safer I fink.”
“Yeah. Eh, what’s that noise?”
“Dunno, I’ll go look you stay ‘ere, stop under the blanket and keep warm.”…
Continue reading “Mary, Joseph and the Baby by Diane Dickson”
I thought I’d take an umbrella. I peered out of the window and drew back the curtain. It was dark and cloudy. I didn’t think – snow – but perhaps rain, sleet, maybe. So, yes I decided, an umbrella. That was back then, when I was brave, when I thought I could do it today. That was when I operated on a “normal” level, sane.
Ray had been listening in for some time now. It was fair to say that not much happened. He was paid regularly and managed to make ends meet, sure. Most of the time, that was all he cared about. The days were hardly springing by like joyous animals, but neither were they crawling in the vein of pained snails. Rent got paid, the cupboards got refilled and occasionally he treated himself to a trip to the local cinema. Work was work though, and he turned up daily at nine in his suit and tie, draping his jacket on the hook behind the door, sitting at his computer, and donning his pair of headphones. Continue reading “Listening In by Jon Green”
You emerge from the wet room, naked. Walk down a long corridor and into your bedroom where you dress in a lacy white thong, a lightweight short-sleeve translucent blouse in lime green and coral pink.
No bra. No footwear.
Outside the mercury hits twenty-seven degrees Celsius. Inside you have the air-con set at nineteen. Yet despite all your efforts to stay cool, heat rises to your skin, chasing away goose-bumps.
Continue reading “The Elite Agency by Xavier P. Xavier – Adult Content”
Scott was excessive. He would have told you that himself. He lived life to excess.
What I admired about Scott was that he had absolutely no regrets. I cannot explain why and you will have to take me at my word. I knew that he had no regrets when I looked into the twinkle in his eye as he told me so.
I first met Scott many years ago and he would tell me story after story about his life. I will admit I didn’t believe his tales of travel, wealth and famous people until the night he decided to show me his treasured photographs. There was Scott in all his finery, in some exotic looking locations, rubbing shoulders with some very famous people. I am no fashion expert but when you looked at the cut of his suit, you knew that they were money. He also showed me pictures of his wife and their land in…I think it was Thailand somewhere. Now I need to explain where I met Scott. I met him in a hostel for the homeless. He was living in a room that had no toilet or kitchen. But as I said, he had no regrets. Continue reading “Hep C And A Lot Of Codeine by Hugh Cron”
The clamour of the hand bell echoed through corridors and hallways, it was followed in an instant by the scrape and thud of thirty pairs of assorted boots and shoes on the bare floorboards of the classroom.
Miss Robinson stood and removed her specs. They fell to the end of their chain and swung gently over her ample bust. “Thank you Class Four collect your things. For homework today I want you to write an essay.” None of the children actually groaned but Jed noticed one or two pairs of eyes rolling heavenwards. For him though there was a flutter of excitement deep in his stomach, he loved essays.
“Your work is to be entitled “The River” and is to be at least five hundred words. Hand it in tomorrow. Now bow your heads for the prayer.” Thirty heads bowed in unison and the mutter of childish voices strove to find a way to whatever God looked down on this benighted part of Yorkshire. Continue reading “The River by Diane M Dickson”
The two hundred and fifty kilometres per hour station-to-station no-turbulence pipe came to a stop. End of the line. Everyone off.
I stepped out the pipe onto a narrow walkway amongst a shoulder-to-shoulder throng six wide whose momentum funnelled me toward a down-ramp and into a square, where a girl with dreadlocks leaning against a 3-D sandwich-board bit through a foil wrapped protein bar – without first removing the foil.
Continue reading “Do Eros Sevens Dream Of Jupiter And Mars? by Adam West”
“Can you imagine someone who knows that he may be living his last year?”
The enquirer was sitting in a wheelchair opposite me – a man in his late forties to early fifties, broad-shouldered, dressed informally, black hair with streaks of silver grey, intense brown eyes, clean shaven.
“How old might he be,” he went on, “and what might be the reason for his imminent departure?”
He eyed me questioningly, an enigmatic smile on his pale, handsome face.
“I believe you’re not referring to yourself,” I smiled back.
He grinned broadly and chortled, “Well, a bit of sarcasm won’t spoil the pleasure of our interaction.” He pressed one of the buttons on the arm of his wheelchair and moved closer. “Are you really sure you want this?
Now, he was staring at me intently, unblinkingly. “Let’s put it this way: Are you adamant in your decision?” Continue reading “The Product by Victor Bort”
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